Stories I Can Tell

Overlooked

2009-11-11T13:22:00.000-08:00

How have I overlooked you standing there every day?
Overlooked your boots whispering underneath the door
While taking your place defending my home
My laughter,
My tears,
My breath…
My freedom
To stand in any building
And not have it collapse underneath my feet
To look towards heaven
And not have it obscured by the burning of my country
To hold my daughter
Without losing her to an explosion of hatred

Como es que no me fijé
How did I not notice that you stand where your brother fell?
That you took his place refusing to surrender my rights
That you stepped into the echo of
His laughter,
His tears,
His breath,
His freedom
Laid at our feet and trampled in complacency

For all the times I have not seen your silent tears,
My heart breaks
For all the times you have saved me and mine,
I thank you
And offer a million prayers to that God that offends so many

God who holds you close when those you defend don’t even know your name

Happy Veteran's Day, and many blessings to all who defend our country. Special love to my dad who served in World War 2.

love,
me

A Path Through The Dark

2009-11-09T10:40:00.000-08:00

Fireflies dancing
Hanging about trees like lanterns
Glowing
Burning
Flickering
As the night grows long

Alli me encurentras
There you’ll find me
Dancing
Dreaming
Skirting
Nightmares come to call

You’ve come too late
I no longer fear you
I no longer hear you
Screaming
Taunting
Lying
That all hope is gone

You think I stand alone
And that I do
You think I've lost my way
But a new path was found

Crying
Fearing
Running
Are shadows of the past

Bienvenido al dia
Welcome to a new day
Marching ever closer
Dawning
Growing
Brightening
My heart with another chance

If Not One, The Other...

2009-11-04T07:30:00.000-08:00

Hoping to catch sunlight,
That luminescent breath of heaven,
I hold out my hands
Fingers splayed like wings
Esperando a volar
Waiting to take flight

Just as I'm about to soar...

The flames collapse behind the hills
Embers ashening
And heaven is covered, suffocating,
Coughing sparks into the night
Quemando hoyos en la mortaja
Burning holes in the shroud

The darkness binds my arms...

They fall to my side, hands empty
I tuck my head underneath my heart
And a flutter of kisses, a stirring feathers,
Crown the top of my head
Rayos de luna me peinan,
Moonbeams comb through my hair

Weaving their magic in every strand...

Happy Halloween

2009-10-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

The wind has really picked up over the week, and I’ve been watching leaves take to the skies likes ducks flying south, hurrying over the treetops without time to catch their breath. Pumpkins have been peeking out of porches with smiles on their faces, skeletons hanging off the eaves rattle their bones, and black cats already have their backs arched as they wait for tomorrow. They are all ready to greet teeny witches and goblins, princesses and pirates, and hopefully quite a few other enchanted characters.

I remember my dad cutting holes in a big, brown grocery bag I’d decorated with squares and knobs making me a robot. Oh, the thought of running around at night like this--todo diferente por la noche, everything different because of the night. There was magic waiting to ignite, and I never wanted it to end: racing from one lawn to the next, dodging scarecrows displayed with scary masks, and shrieking in delight when a werewolf answered the door. And after all that adventure, coming home with free candy that I could piece out to last me for at least a couple of months.

Getting my daughter's costumes ready year after year brought me right back to that excitement. True, the crowds weren’t like before, and I only entrusted her to the mall going from store to store. However, I could see that same laughter in her eyes, and the glee when she ran into someone she knew and they’d run holding hands to the next shop for handfuls of treats. I’d forget to take pictures after the first go round of poses; too lost in that moment, getting swept away in her childhood I knew would be gone all too soon keeping me from stepping back behind the lens.

Ahorita, Right now we have three pumpkins sitting on the porch, and they know their big day is almost here, after which they will not be forgotten. Only my husband carves his, but my daughter and I leave ours to show of their orange, pleated skins so that they can enjoy the autumn for as long as it lasts...

Happy Halloween,
Love,
me

Lesson Learned

2009-10-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

Against a grey backdrop, this little bird didn't make a sound. No song, no tweets, he merely sat contemplating the falling leaves like shingles disappearing from his roof one by one, though he didn't seem distraught that his shelter was coming apart. He knows he'll fly away soon and find another home, perhaps a better one. Perhaps on his way he'll meet his mate and they'll create their new home together. I doubt I'll see him again tomorrow, but I wish him well.

Una lección en el cielo, A lesson in the sky, a lesson as easily visible as a bird sitting in a tree in Autumn. Learning to adapt, making the best of what is--ever changing times, and life in general keeps us thinking and planning. And if we're lucky along the way we find friends and soul mates, laughter and love, and maybe children to connect us to everything that lives and breathes. After a lifetime of ups and downs, when the downs descended so far and for so long it was imperceptible when the ups were beginning, it is a lesson learned.

View From 18

2009-10-22T11:04:00.000-07:00

Not every door is meant to be open
Not every doorway should be ignored
Looking back at the years that have passed
A darkened corridor marked by choices and chances
Some taken, doors flung open
Others left closed, the doorknobs rusted

No turning back
No changing what was

Ahead the corridor brightens...
Apenas,
Barely
Choices and Chances flickering silently
Marking time

It's not easy as running through each
Too much tunneling and the corridor's lost
Yet straight through the journey's insignificant
The lights sputtering with regret

No turning back
No changing what was

--me

*written October 22nd, 1986 when I turned 18

Shameless, I know...

2009-10-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

...however, I can't help but make mention that today I'm being featured on the Indie Craft Corner blog.

:-D

Ok, lla lo se, I know it seems like I'm tooting my horn (toot - oops! did I do that?), but I find it exciting. (eek! - there I go again...)

For someone who has always been very solitary, promoting myself does not come easy. I'm not shy by any means for the two are not one and the same. If I find something distasteful, if someone is rude - it will be known. When I'm happy and/or thrilled at another's good fortune or because the clouds are beautifully lit behind the burning sun - it will be known (yes, I'll be the one who does a happy-dance, claps her hands, twirls, gives hugs, etc... in other words I make a spectacle of myself).

Yet, about myself I'm often mute except for here in this space. I suppose it is the freedom of the degree of anonymity, the feel that I'm sharing a secret dispersed like droplets of rain - they go so far that they will not return to storm over me. Feelings are sacred and potent, and in the wrong hands they are dangerous. Soltando los en voz baja, Released in a whisper they do not call too much attention, but are still allowed to make their way out into the world.

So this is another secret I'm entrusting to you all: knowing that people have seen my artwork, that a couple of beauties ordered my book, that I could make a feature on a blog, makes me happy... it is a bit of redemption for watching most of my childhood dreams dissolve like tear-stained watercolors.

:-)

A Good Man

2009-10-16T11:48:00.000-07:00

How do you know a good man? Is it his smile? His silence? The way he brings light into a cold, dark room? The way he sits by your bedside assuring you nightmares are not real? Is it the apology in his eyes before he warns you that it is not safe to be in your own home, that the “bad days” have come, and she will be vandalizing the house with screams? Warning and giving you enough time to scramble up the almond tree in the backyard like a cat scrambling for survival to get out of reach?

Is he good man aunque quebró su promesa, though he broke his promise never to leave you alone with her and all those bad days?

Twenty-four years ago yesterday, my dad passed away, and I became lost in conversations and jokes we'd shared. Sitting on my patio, I took the same long walk to the church and back where I would collect rocks big enough to drown my fears. I was just swirling sugar into a second cup of tea when my mom called to remind me that twenty-four years ago we sat with him for the last time, and I could hear her voice saddened that the man who tried to save her from her “bad days” was no more but a whisper in heart. Es tan facil olvidar me, It’s easy for me to forget that the “bad days” didn’t only affect me. My dad was in over his head trying to save both my mom and I.

It reminded me even good men don’t always win. You can’t win a game when the rules are thrown out, and in that sad house the rules were cracked more than the walls and broken more than our hearts. He was already 58 years old when I was born, and he was a good man despite leaving me before I even turned 17 and breaking that promise to keep me safe. And I even forgive him most likely welcoming his time to leave that little house of straw that always blew apart with all the huffing and puffing of my stormy childhood.

Yesterday was not a day I wanted to place blame, not a day I wanted to be sad. Yesterday I remembered him with more smiles than heartache befitting the role he played in my life.

I miss you and I love you no solamente porque eres mi padre, not only because you’re my father, but because I have no doubt you were a good man. No doubts whatsoever that you still are.

love,
me

Leading Home

2009-10-12T11:14:00.000-07:00

This little sidewalk running left from our house can take me anywhere. I look at it and am often reminded of Bilbo from The Hobbit who left his home without so much as a handkerchief to embark on a grand adventure. No dragons to slay in my near future, though I’ll never say never; however, the most rewarding aspect of this little walk is that just as it leads me out, tambien me trae a casa, so it leads me home.

This weekend alone, if you’d had the chance to come down this walk you’d have found a little dog that shakes himself with such joy he often collapses before he shoots back up and starts all over again; you’d have smelled bacon frying, dinner rolls rising, apple-muffins baking, not to mention fabric softener for weekend laundry. You would have heard a book read aloud, and laughter as my daughter went from seventeen to seven recounting goofy jokes; and good-natured groans as my husband cannot resist a pun and will stretch one to unimaginable limits.

This little walk has led me far from where I started in this life, and I feel my heart open wide whenever I’m on it. The trees on both sides (though not visible in the photo) are slender but caring, rounding over to see how I’m doing and making sure I make it safely to whichever end. I know I get sentimental over so many things, but if I can’t appreciate it all then what’s the point, yes? On all the roads traveled, hasta los pequeños, even the little ones, and especially the ones that lead back home, there are memories dotting the sides like flowers waiting to be sniffed and remembered. Every petal can be plucked and will elicit a smile, or perhaps a tear, for there isn't a road that has never seen rain.

I have no ideas how many roads are out there for me, perhaps this little walk will lead me home always. Either way it has a special place in my heart, and I'll admit every once in a while I'll skip down this road and do a little happy dance. My daughter wonders if I'll always be such a goofball, thankfully she says this smiling and always adds "I hope so!" because I don't think I can help it. ;-)

What Do You See?

2009-10-08T07:36:00.000-07:00

On my walk, this was lying across my path. I smiled and wondered whatever was a lion's tail doing here? Looking around, I saw a tree that was bent over though it was a bit young to be so stooped. Hmmmm, it is holding a secret, I thought, and sure enough the leaves shook guiltily. I looked up and the sun was glowing behind a cloud, the rays spread out... like a lion's mane. And just like that I knew the fate of that lion:

He was chasing the sun y en cuando brinco, and just as he pounced the tree mischievously lifted its root resting just above ground, snagging the lion's tail pulling it into the dirt and snapping it! The lion, in pain and off balance, somersaulted into the sky, tumbling, tumbling taking the sun's place, forever spinning around the world.

Tu que miras? What do you see?

Evolving

2009-10-06T09:07:00.001-07:00

Aqui está, So here it is – my project unveiled. Depending how long you’ve been visiting my little blog, you may recall that during my yearlong absence from bloggy land I began writing a story that helped me cope with the many troubles I was going through. No surprise that it was during Autumn that this story crept into my head, that during my walks around the nearby lake I began to see a face with so many words ready to pour out that I couldn’t help but speak to her. She was a demon, but I wasn’t frightened; she opened her heart to me, and since mine was a bit broken at the time I gratefully fell in.

The world she described intrigued me, and it wasn’t long before she introduced me to Kyle and the Master she served. I kept track of their adventure, often fearing for them, shuddering at their encounters, and so very proud of what they were trying to accomplish. Two hundred pages later, I was putting my life back together. Two hundred pages later, I knew I didn’t just want to wrap this story up and tuck it away. However, I did put it aside for a little over a month, wanting to return to it with fresh eyes before editing. That was quite a process. And of course since writers can be their own worse editor, I knew that if I was serious I had to let someone else read it, which I did.

Now learning how to bind the book was a frustrating task, but if I was publishing this book myself, then I was going to actually MAKE it myself. I wanted it to have that old-world feel, like a lost manuscript unearthed. Here is the synopsis:

We all fall at some time in our lives whether losing our way or overcome by demons. However, when Kyle falls he falls out of the world, and his only hope is a demon… and her Master. A being of shadow and power, a Night Caller, Master is determined to help a civilization, the people who birthed him, from an ambush cunningly set by a dark hatred.

The monsters of human imaginings will not prepare them for the creatures lurking the perimeters of true nightmares held back by ancient rules soon to be crushed. Kyle is aware of these devils though he has yet to confront the ones that changed him from the boy to the mercenary. Keeping this secret from himself may cost Kyle more than his soul. It may cost him humanity.

Oh, and here’s my demon:

I love her. Really. Y te puedo decir, and I can tell you letting her out into the world is hugely scary, but I think she and her companions deserve their story to be told. I’ve put a few copies of my book available on Etsy along with some Dia De Los Muertos art.

I’ll be catching up with all of you as soon as I’m back from my walk. I'm late getting started on my day because of Etsy posting, and my furbaby is anxiously wagging his tail. Also, there’s someone else waiting for me. Yes, I’ve started another book, and he’s finally opening up.

;-)

Love,
me

14 Syllables

2009-10-02T09:37:00.000-07:00

Whisper released
Soaring, floating... gentle descent
Autumn

The Veil Is Lifting

2009-09-29T16:13:00.000-07:00

What a lovely walk this morning – the mist crowning the hilltops and slowly winding its way between the trees and branches; the wind constantly dipping its fingers into the lake sending ripples giggling from one end to the other. Hay algo de este tiempo, There’s something about this weather that opens up a whole new world, the sky seems surreal as the clouds wrap themselves over the heavens, covering up the sun so that they glow magically.

I can easily get lost in this weather during my walk, getting so lost in the moment that it’s as if I stepped out of time for an hour or so. Most often I even forget about my camera (the photo above was taken over the weekend), and much of the green that is claiming its rightful place will linger for months before I ever think to capture it for future paintings. However, they certainly do not go unappreciated.

This cold weather had an unhappy place in my childhood, though only at the beginning since we quickly reached a truce: I could never feel warm enough and my belly rarely got the hot stews and soups it craved, so this season showed me a world beyond reality. Always creating stories in my head, it was during Autumn that the veil of fantasy was really pulled back. There was never hesitation on my part, and I whole-heartedly plunged into this world with a cloak at my neck, sword at my side, and a quest in my heart. I bested orcs, trolls and dragons. I rescued crops, villages, and those with golden souls. I couldn’t be stopped, and where others saw rooftops, I saw mountains to be stormed. Where others saw neighborhoods, I saw monoliths and magic. Y no, nunca, And no, never was I the princess in distress. I was a warrior, a lioness always ready for the heat of battle.

I’m forty years old, and that veil still lifts when the mist breaks its hibernation, and roams the early morning with moss at its feet. I may not run around with a clothespin taped to a stick and shooting rubberbands like arrows on a cross bow, and it has been far too many years since I've carried thyme in a pouch as a healing herb, but the magic is still potent.

What images does Autumn grace you with?

Out of Focus

2009-09-25T13:38:00.001-07:00

Swimming away now that summer is gone, and the morning sun is out of focus taking longer to warm their baths, los patitos, these little duckies are clearing the lake near my house. My dog tugs against his leash wanting a closer look, but within a few whispers of the wind all that is left are ripples widening in a final farewell.

Happy Autumn,
Love,
me

I Had Mail

2009-09-23T10:22:00.001-07:00

My inbox has really been a circus these last few days. Thank goodness for those beautiful and positive comments awaiting me (who doesn’t get happy seeing these, right? you’re smiling, yes?) Apart from those there were a few Etsy notices, craft fair inquiries, and of course those emails that finagle their way through the filters by misspelling target words: Would you like your peanis to rival the empire state building? No, I don’t have a peanis, thank you very much; Would you like your man’s peanis to talk to you all night long? Ni lo mande Dios! May God never allow that! I have enough problems when my husband gets ideas in his head, imagine if his "peanis" had an opinion? Nope, pass. Then there were a few emails that confused me and caused me to “WTF?!”, but I’ll only discuss one in particular.

It has been brought to my attention that my last post was a let down. Apparently on the heels of the post A Long Journey, my Finishing Touches post was “generic” and “lacking depth”. This was a long, detailed email, and I must admit by the second paragraph I became a bit fascinated by the sincerity of this person’s disappointment AND irritation at my inconsistency. They must have missed the one with my dog and his wrestling obsession otherwise I would really have a lot to answer for!

I suppose the difference in posts was one is a poem, the other was reaching out to connect with blogglyland. I suppose the other difference being I was unaware I was obligated to raise the bar, and perform on demand. Oh? I’m not, am I? That’s right, this is my space… hmmmm… that does mean I post what I will and how I will. And you know what (yes You), there were still beautiful comments waiting for me (en verdad, really, go look), and the fact that You are disappointed did not, much to your dismay, bring the world crashing down upon my head. But hey! You did earn your own post! True you rated lower than the misspelled penis emails, but if it makes you feel better while reading your email I immediately associated it with a talking penis, so I guess that’s something, no? Let’s just call it even.

For all the lovelies and gents who make there way here, thank you for no expectations, thank you for accepting whatever ramblings I... well, ramble on about, heehee

;-)

love,
me

Finishing Touches

2009-09-21T07:36:00.000-07:00

This was my baby's weekend - loungey. Mine? Not so much. On top of the usual flurry of my mom, and general home stuff I have quite a few projects that need finishing touches.

Today will be all about adorning these last details, taking pictures, and starting the whole process all over again. I must admit I love the ritual of brewing my tea (strong Irish Breakfast Tea), and sitting down to swirls of colors. Whether acrylics, watercolor, or in paper patterns this combination is soothing. Oh, and the other project? Tu sabes, you know the one I keep hinting at? It is sooooo close now – those tummy-butterflies are really whirlin’!

I hope your weekend was beautiful. I hope there was magic, and that it tapped you on the shoulder, kissed your nose so that your eyes opened wide with wonder, and you smiled from deep within your heart. Si, eso es lo que deseo, Yes, that is what I hope…

:-)

A Long Journey

2009-09-18T07:41:00.000-07:00

The past finally sets
Behind the last hilltop
It burns no more
Leaving me free from its flames

Wearily, I rest
On the eaves of a beating heart
Cradled
Nestled
Catching my breath

Nightmares can’t reach me
Dreams have come calling
They whisper my name
En voz de niña,
In a child’s voice
A child unknown to hunger
A child unknown to loneliness
A child unknown to screams of stop!

A child that I’ve raised
With hands calloused and scarred
A child that I’ve nurtured
With stories and song
Una niña que risa
A child that laughs
And heals old wounds

Love did not bury itself
In my father’s Sunday best
Leaving a handful of stars
Fading with time

Love is in her every smile
Like a million golden threads
Wrapped around a worn stuffed toy
Hope is in her dance
Towards the door marked Woman

A backward glance
The distance of childhood
She extends her hand
Keeping that door open
Keeping us connected
Keeping us family

Manteniendo mi Corazon,
Keeping my heart filled with peace
After a long journey home

-me

Gift of Jewels

2009-09-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

Imagine receiving all this loveliness in the mail! As usual I walked to my mailbox while going over my mental checklist, crossing one thing off and adding three more, when I spied an envelope with the name of one of the most inspiring blogs I know - Soul Aperture. I literally stopped in my tracks before rushing back in to savor this friendship. Beautiful Christina mailed me my Gift of Jewels, inspired by the magnificent Se'Lah (don't you just LOVE her name!)

I have to tell you this bloggy love is amazing, and I am reveling in it! Oh, y no era todo, and that wasn't all. There were a few more postcard sets for the kindness swap - you ladies are in for such a treat. With every postcard package there is such fun and love that I can't wait to get these going. Solamente, Just waiting on a few more then it will be time to put all your love into action - yay!

:-)

My Dog's Dark Side

2009-09-13T22:14:00.000-07:00

First let me clarify, my dog, my baby, my sweetness whom I cannot deny anything, loves wrestling. Yes, professional, fake wrestling. There is something about that steel chair knocking someone out, and that dive off the top rope, that is a thrilling rush!... so my dog says. However, as of late, my dog is not happy with wrestling entertainment, and he needs to vent.

Now, the fact that this is a scripted sport makes it very maddening when the right person doesn't win. I mean, imaginate, imagine it: Superbowl, the World Series are all about ability and chance, you do not know who is going to win, and there's really no one to blame when the game doesn't go your way, yes? But wrestling someone KNOWS. Someone DECIDED that "x" person is going to win the belt, and HOW they are going to do it. Then they don't pick the right one!

grrrrrrrr!

How can I enjoy my fake sport, when all I want to do is strangle the little man behind the curtain!?... er, this is what my dog would like to know. If you're going to give me a heel (bad guy) don't make them all the same; if you want to put a face over (promoting a good guy or "hero" and giving him credibility) give him some flaws for dimension! Otherwise they may as well use cardboard cutouts, no?

Have I caught some of you off guard? You know, with my dog's passion for wrestling? I know that UFC (ultimate fighting) is the real deal, and I suppose some might think boxing is far more respectable, but let's consider the brutality, something that was far too prevalent in my neighborhood growing up. Well, actually, I guess that says it all. No quiero que se matan, I don't want them killing each for real! Imagine gladiators giving crowds the thrill of a blood sport, then high-five-ing each other backstage, or feeding and training the lions that will pretend to eat them every day at 11 and 5, Sundays off.

Action in the ring, primal and brutal--I can enjoy it knowing that most of these guys will walk backstage, shake hands and get along. There are serious injuries in the ring, no doubt, these are some big guys flipping and throwing each other around even outside the padded ring, but they are pulling punches, and timing their kicks. They spot each other, and give us the action without real violence. It allows me to enjoy the dark side without it being too dark - more like twilight.

Oh, wait! It allows my dog to enjoy it... yes, that's what I meant...

;-)

We Are Still Here

2009-09-11T07:32:00.000-07:00

Beautiful sky
Beautiful sun
Rising to shine over us
Because we are still here…

We were shaken
We were struck
We were angry
We still are

Just as we are still here

You wanted to scare us
You did
You wanted our attention
You got it
You wanted to destroy us

But we are still here

You wanted us to look at this day
And see your face
We look at this day
And see those who were murdered
We look at this day
And we see OUR faces

Because we are still here

Dios nos bendiga,
God Bless America
We still stand

Yes, we still have a lot to learn
We are not perfect
But we are capable of great love
We show it every day
We are capable of great deeds
We accomplish them every day
We are capable of greatness
We prove that always
Not for you
But for us
For all of us

Because WE are still here

-me

9/11

Ooops! Is My Mexican Showing?

2009-09-09T11:32:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking of calaveras y ofrendas, skulls & shrines as the days turn a little chilly. In the blink of an eye Dia de Los Muertos, Day of the Dead will be here, and I'm stirring up some goodies to pop in my Etsy store for those who want to partake of this holiday. It is a special time in Mexican culture, a time when our loved ones take a wondrous journey to be by our sides, and enjoy the earthly comforts that warmed their hearts when they were alive. We offer them their favorite meals, their favorite drinks, we hold them in our hearts always, but on this day we hold their presence far more tangibly. It is a time to look forward to, not morbidly, but lovingly. And certainly cathartically.

:-)

Abandoned

2009-09-07T14:35:00.000-07:00

I found you on my walk
I don't know to whom you belonged
Y no se como obtuvieron el valor,
And I don't know how they got the courage to toss you aside
But if gloom has been abandoned
Deseo,
I hope it is because happiness has taken your place
I hope that while you whither dreams are blossoming
You have caused enough damage, haven't you?

Choosing Our Words

2009-09-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

Carefully chosen words can make someone's day, it can lift their spirits and make them feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, so many times it is the carelessly chosen words that stick with us. Nagging us, perhaps making us question if we have shown too much of ourselves, careless words can be a relentless itch or a barrier from which we retreat. Whether or not it is the intention to be flippant or condescending, often it can be a matter of not thinking before speaking, the weight of words can still be a burden to the one to whom they're delivered.

The gift of words is treasured, while the sting of words is painful, this in itself tells us que tan preciosas, just how precious words are. We savor, fear or revile them depending on how they're arranged and the tone in which they are carried. Words should be no more casually thrown about than someone's feelings. Actions may speak louder, but the echo of a thoughtless quip can ring in our ears for some time, yes?

We draw conclusions from both sides of the conversation, from how much we reveal--is this friendship? is this a person I can trust? does this person even care that I've reached out?--to the listener's reaction. It shapes us and helps us navigate future conversations and relationships. Opening ourselves up whether divulging opinions, dreams or memories is never a small thing, and it should never be treated as such. No matter how hectic life is, at what crazy speeds life moves, words should be given their due before they are bandied about and tossed como si fueran dulces, as if they are little more than candy on Halloween.

From my own experience, I can have an acid tongue, sometimes well deserved and yes, very well thought out, but also having used it with reckless abandon. A lost temper, so very tired, frustrated - a million reasons to have charged without considering how my words will land. Those I regret, and there have been some I could not take back. I've also been on the receiving end, and the ones that have hurt the most was when there was no thought placed on how those words would affect me. They were not necessarily meant to be nasty, but there was no care to ensure they wouldn't be either. It didn't matter one way or the other.

It should matter, in all we do, in all we say. I wish everyone a beautiful weekend, and I do mean this in every sense. I hope that there is magic in all the little things, from the smiles of your loved ones, to the dinner you enjoy, from a cat curled up on the bed, from the leaves that are beginning to fall and waft lazily at your feet. When I sign off in (((hugs))) and love, these are not casual words, they are the (((hugs))) from here in my little home to close the distance, it is love that all though I may not know you well, I wish you well, I want you to smile and be happy, and rest your head at night knowing the world is a good place in part porque TU estas aqui, because YOU are here. It is my thank you for trusting me with your own words when you leave a comment here or when you share on your blog. It is my thank you for making my world a better place.

(((hugs))),
love,
me

Where I Live

2009-09-02T07:43:00.000-07:00

I live in a small house
with a big heart

From the outside you might think
"Ay, Que pequeña" "Oh, it's so tiny"
But inside this home live
big dreams
big ideas
big laughter
and sometimes
big tears

In this house resides
everything I live for
my family
my hope
my salvation
my future
my daughter
my husband
my kitty
and my dog
who fills every day with kisses.

In this house I make art
I write with the love passed on from my father
I cook with gratitude for the bounty I never saw in my childhood
and bird houses will be fixed
after the heat of summer
to be ready for the rains of winter

In this house with a big heart
es donde vivo, is where I live.

To visit where many different bloggy beauties live, drop by Lens Us Together.

Conversation & Root Beer Floats

2009-08-31T09:32:00.000-07:00

My mother and I have never had the easiest of relationships, it has always hinged on two extremely stubborn people, entre dos mulas solo los cabronasos suenan, get two mules together and only the clashing of their hoofs can be heard. Since very young I knew I was not her favorite. Since very young I knew there was something that set her off edge every time she looked at me.

There are reasons, I wish I'd understood then what bipolar was, it would have saved a lot of heart ache, but I suppose at this point it is moot. At this point in her life much of my anger towards her, many of her reactions, often physical and extreme, no longer matter. She is my mother, and she needs me. No matter how tiring spending a day with her can be, and crea me, believe me I know how bad that sounds, I see her every Saturday because I had to drop that big bag of grudges for my own sake as well as hers.

For the most part our conversations now are repeats of the week before… and the week before that, her memory failing more and more. Mostly our conversations are along the lines of the Root Beer conversation that looped throughout one day, even seeping into the next few weeks:

Mom: “Have you ever tried pouring root beer over your ice cream?”

Me: “A root beer float?”

My mom raises her voice as she believes me to be confused: “ROOT BEER OVER YOUR ICE CREAM? I like pouring root beer over my ice cream, if it’s vanilla. Sabe rico, it taste really good?”

Me: “Yes... a root beer float.”

Blank looks at this point. She has no idea what a root beer float is. She explains her yummy concoction one more time, at which point I say—

Me: “Oh, yeah, I have done that, it’s good.”

Mom: “It is, huh? I must have made that for you when you were younger, I’ve always done that.”

Why remind her that she never made me one, that my dad always took the time to make this treat, a great extravagance for our meager budget. Why remind her that seeing a root beer float could ignite her temper leaving her raging over how he spoiled me, and how unfair the world was. Besides, she easily and randomly moves on to something else, some other gossip or news bit. Some current, some that happened years ago. Sometimes I can stay silent the entire car ride while she answers both sides.

Meandering through the store, where I have to keep a really close eye on her else she wanders off and gets lost, she spies the soda isle, and turns to me with great excitement:

Mom: “Have you ever tried pouring root beer over your ice cream?”

Me: “Yes, I think you made this for me when I was younger.”

Mom: “Did I?”

A few hours later dropping her back off at home, she reports that she will plop herself in front of the fan it is such a hot day. I know it is only a matter of minutes before we are replaying the root beer float scenario, and sure enough she launches.

This weekend I took her to A&W for their specialty: root beer floats. She could not believe her eyes, as I brought her the big stein filled with vanilla ice cream and root beer. I had to keep prompting her to eat her food and not fill up on her float. She tried a few bites, but it was the float that had all her attention. After all, in her mind she has always poured root beer over her ice cream, and even made it for me. To her credit, in all of her rages she never took my root beer float away. No matter que tan enojada, how angry she was, she let me finish every last drop.